


Blueprint.

by DeadDrabble (MisakillDatMonkey)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Canon Universe, Declarations Of Love, Domestic, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Food Play, Grocery Shopping, Idiots in Love, Italian Cuisine, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Time Skip, Switch SunaOsa, Table Sex, Taxes, misuse of olive oil, washing machine sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/DeadDrabble
Summary: They have a cat that doesn't belong to them, share a flat they barely live in and forget to water the plants far too often. But whenever Rintarou and Osamu can steal a moment for themselves, nothing can burst their little bubble, neither poor poetry nor the dullest chores.A three parts collection revolving around domestic moments that couldn't quite stay perfectly innocent.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 33
Kudos: 154
Collections: SunaOsa





	1. chaos and staccato.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific tags for this part: top!Suna x bottom!Osamu (but keep in mind they switch in the series) + Suna's POV

“I don’t know, I’m no longer the young man I was in the prime of our lives.”

There are some points that need to be made, but Suna thinks that this one doesn't need any extra demonstration to come across. He's been sitting next to the washing machine for twenty minutes now, stuffing it with various pieces of clothing at the speed of a sloth suffering arthritis, sighing deep from his chest when he had to get up and grab the laundry sheet. 

Life is hard, life is tiresome. 

"Rin, what the fuck.”

And Suna and Osamu see everything eye to eye apart from when it comes to evaluating the level of hardship they’re each going through. 

“You’re 25. You’re a professional athlete. Literally on the Olympic roster. Your stamina is unmatched, I—”

“Wow, easy there. Some might think you want a piece of this, Osamu,” Suna says as he gestures vaguely at his own self.

He looks up at Osamu from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, dropping the last of their boxer briefs in the machine. Osamu leans down to close the door and Suna gets a peek at his collarbones where his t-shirt gapes. He’s standing up again before Suna can get a closer look at his boyfriend’s toned chest.

Life is _really_ hard. And Osamu doesn’t seem inclined to make it any less so.

“I’ve been tryin’ to climb you since the alarm went off this morning, what are you even saying?” he drops like it’s the most innocent thing in the world, deadpan.

Suna scrambles to his feet, because yes, everything is tiresome and it’s all a pain but Osamu is clearly provoking him — just like he has been doing, indeed, since the alarm went off — and he deserves to be taught a lesson.

Suna has no clue how to do that. It sounds troublesome. Still, he’ll stand his grounds a little longer because Osamu just can’t get away with everything.

“I’m saying we’re almost finally done with chores and you can hang in there just a little longer,” Suna explains, snapping the detergent drawer shut.

Osamu cocks an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Suna isn’t impressed. He’s clearly the better one at this little game of _not-hot, unbothered._ He knows he is, not only because it has always been the case and Osamu relies too easily on the dramatic side of the Miya genes, but also because Suna has been desperate to get all over Osamu since he cracked an eye open this morning and his lover has absolutely no clue. 

Osamu, on the other hand, is quick to abandon all pretense. All it takes is for Suna to grab the laundry basket left on top of the washing machine and pretend he has business anywhere other than Osamu’s direct vicinity.

A strong grip closes around Suna’s elbow just as he’s about to turn on his heel.

“In theory, we _are_ done with chores,” Osamu notes. “Once you press that button, you _know_ we have nothin' to do apart from hangin' out the laundry.”

"Oh, are we?" Suna pretends to ask absent-mindedly.

His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the basket. Osamu's glare is intent and insistent. Suna has his fun. 

Of course, he _knows._ They have another laundry coming after this one too, but, in between those, they've literally checked all the bullets down their chores list. 

Suna would have noticed, he made a mental note of each time and surface he could have bent over or bent Osamu over in the last two hours. Not including breakfast because there's simply no defiling Osamu's most sacred meal of the day. 

Still… 

"Cool. Then how about ordering something for lunch? Poor Olympic roster worthy athlete is starving and needs carbs to stay in peak— _umph_."

Kissing with a plastic laundry basket trapped between them is not only painful, it's awkward. It digs in Suna's solar plexus and renders Osamu unable to deepen said kiss and give Suna a proper taste. Which is absolutely scandalous, since Osamu is the one who took such a bold initiative. 

Suna should really teach him a lesson, but Suna is really not the kind of man who’d choose any kind of troubling extra work over his basic needs. Going through a whole morning worth of chores is enough already. 

The laundry basket crashes on the ground. A piece of plastic flies in a corner of the room because it’s cheap and really not sturdy but he doesn’t care, it’s broken now. Osamu visibly reaches the same conclusion since he steps over the basket without further ado. The plastic creaks under his foot — definitely destroyed.

They stumble across the room until Suna slams into the boiler. The laundry room is actually the only cramped room of their shared flat. There are surprising perks in choosing to live in the dorms of the EJP Raijin’s training facility: Suna can save his money to rent a flat with his successful entrepreneur of a boyfriend back in Osaka and with a split lease, they can afford quite a comfortable place. 

Suna doesn’t live here all the time, and they do have to snuggle tight when Osamu comes up to Shizuoka to allegedly check on his third shop and they have to share Suna's dorm bed, but they like this compromise.

Suna likes everything in this compromise because it’s the way he gets the most of Osamu despite their busy schedules, and he doesn’t mind a cramped laundry room because even when he tries to be a tease and make Osamu run for it a little… Suna loves that the chase is cut short and they can indulge in each other easily. They didn't have a plan, but over the years they sure found their way to each other.

Without the basket between them, and after many failed attempts, Osamu doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t want to. Suna doesn’t need to take a wild guess as to why. There were _clues._

_“Rin, just once b’fore we get up. I’ll cook you the best eggs.” But Osamu always cooks the best eggs, anyway._

_“Rin, didya know we could both fit in the storage unit? That’s funny." Yes, so do the vacuum and mop, Suna objected before Osamu could try and ignite the spark of his little fantasies._

_“Rin, ya know what that looks like? Some stupid plumber porn shit.” Well, sure, if he’s horny, anything close to rummaging through the cabinet under the sink is going to look like bad porn, Suna sighed, slapping the doors shut and scowling with mischief in his eyes._

_“Okay but hear me out, Rin. It’s gonna sound like bad porn again but…”_

Suna presses a hand to Osamu’s chest to push him back, breaking the kiss in the process. He leans in, though, lips moving a hair’s breadth away from Osamu’s as he asks:

“Now, entertain me with that washing machine scenario again?”

“Ah! Not such a lame script anymore, is it?” Osamu grins victoriously.

“Calm down, Osamu. No one’s gonna wear any cap and overalls and if you just as much as think about making _Mario_ your safeword, I’m locking you in there for the rest of the weekend,” Suna warns, index tapping lightly over Osamu’s collarbone.

There’s a crooked smile on his boyfriend’s lips.

“Was thinkin’ about _Luigi,_ actually. _He_ is the sexy one.”

Suna sighs deeply, heavily… he brings a hand to his face to rub the despair off the creases that just appeared on his forehead. His boyfriend is a terrible moron and Suna dies internally from holding back the chuckle Osamu’s stupid joke definitely doesn’t deserve.

His little act works, because for a second, Suna sees the doubt in Osamu’s eyes and he knows his lover wonders if he went too far. If, _maybe,_ talking about a plumber with an awful mustache and a high-pitched silly voice killed Suna’s sex drive — possibly for the rest of their life together.

Damn, maybe he killed their _couple and any chance they ever had at happiness,_ Osamu seems to think, eyes growing a little wider when Suna keeps staring at him, stolid.

But brevity is the soul of wit. And Suna is a tease, not a cruel man.

“Osamu,” he drawls, slowly bringing both hands to his boyfriend’s broad shoulders to push him back lightly. “I’m sorry but you leave me no choice.” 

Suna guides him backward, hears the way Osamu's throat _clicks_ ô so satisfyingly, but still doesn’t let go of the poker face. Not until Osamu’s ass collides with the washing machine and Suna can lean into him so his lips brush the shell of his ear.

“I’m afraid I have to fuck that sick sense of humor out of you.”

Suna doesn’t need to pull back to know Osamu’s eyes lighted up. The way his head tilts to the side to give him room to work that weak spot Suna loves bruising, just under the sharp angle of Osamu’s jaw, is telling enough.

Even more telling, and a lot less subtle, is Osamu’s next flight of poetry: “Thank fuck, finally! I’m not sure I could’ve kept the lube stuck in my sweatpants any longer.”

Suna freezes, lips ghosting over Osamu’s neck.

The urge to draw back and pinch the bridge of his nose is tremendous. The sight of Osamu fumbling with his waistband to somehow produce said bottle of lube out of his _backside_ , ridiculous. 

A little like Suna’s need to jump him right now, but he’s always been a lost cause when it comes to Osamu.

When his brain is done rebooting, Suna snatches the bottle of lube to drop it on the machine’s worktop, teeth sinking in the side of Osamu’s throat a little more eagerly than intended. But what can Suna do? He, too, has had the urge to get in his boyfriend’s pants since they woke up. He’s just better at concealing things…

Or so Suna thought.

“Have you kept this _thing_ in your pants all morning long?” he can’t help but ask in between two nips and bites.

Osamu is writhing against him, yet he sounds positively _smug_ when he brags: “Maybe? Didn’t see that comin’, uh?”

“I’m an _Olympian,_ not a fucking oracle, ‘Samu,” Suna groans against his skin, elliciting a long shiver.

“Yeah, precisely, Rin. But for an Olympian, I don’t see much—holy f—”

Osamu is cut short, words morphing into a groan when Suna grabs him by the waist to hoist him on top of the washing machine, slotting himself between Osamu’s legs and pressing flat against him.

Suna is only half-hard but their sweatpants are thin and that washing machine happens to be just the perfect height for Osamu to notice that.

“You were saying?” Suna asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Osamu’s unimpressed glare would be a little more effective if he wasn’t in the same predicament _and_ trying to push back against Suna needily.

“Yeah, yeah, ya passed weight lifting, and then _what_.”

Suna’s eyes narrow and Osamu curses under his breath.

That sounds about right, Suna thinks as he reluctantly takes a step back to snap Osamu’s legs shut. His fingers hook in the waistband of his boyfriend’s pants _and_ boxers and their eyes meet for a second. Osamu nods _eagerly,_ pushing his hips up. Suna should just leave him hanging, because Osamu hasn’t stopped trying to provoke him all morning but he is too worked up, and it is _working,_ so he indulges and pulls his pants in one swift go. Osamu’s boxers don’t go all the way, stuck around his ankles but Suna’s mind is reeling and before his boyfriend can think about kicking them all the way off, a genius idea pops in Suna’s head.

Osamu yelps as he’s shoved backward toward the wall. The next sound escaping his mouth isn’t much more dignified when Suna pushes his legs up until they rest against his chest, both knees draped over his left shoulder.

“I can’t move,” Osamu whines.

“I don’t want you to,” Suna provides with a grin, folding his lover some more as he leans forward.

He thinks about reaching for the bottle of lube that’s been waiting there all this time but it seems like Suna isn’t done being brilliant. His hand first stops over the control panel. His smirk gets sharper around the edge, Osamu squints.

“Oi! What are—”

“Bet I can make you come twice before the quick cycle is over,” Suna teases, fiddling blindly with the knob and buttons of the console.

“The _quick_ cycle? Yer an Olympian, not a fuckin’ porn star!” Osamu protests, but the blush growing on his cheeks instantly tells Suna everything he needs to know.

“Someone said my stamina is unmatched,” Suna reminds him.

“Mine is not, Rin, _mine_ is not,” Osamu objects. “Where does that energy even come from, ya lazy bast—woh!”

The washing machine under him comes to life, startling Osamu who swallows back the rest of his words and glares at his boyfriend. Suna’s smirk is now _wicked_ but he doesn’t give Osamu the chance to look at it for long, bending over to crush their lips together.

The lulling sound filling the room and the dull vibration against the front of Suna’s thighs start the timer. Osamu melting into the kiss is a dead giveaway Suna has a serious headstart too.

He finally reaches for the bottle of lube, uncapping it with his right hand while his left arm curls around Osamu’s thighs to pull him in, until his bare ass hangs off the edge of the worktop. 

Suna doesn’t bother warming up the gel coating his fingers because — and he chuckles against Osamu’s lips like he does _every time_ — Osamu moans wantonly at the sudden cold press.

Another card up his sleeve, but Suna has barely started. Performance isn’t a thing he strives for, breaking records was never his forte; hell, Suna got on that roster by sheer miracle, if you listen to him, because it certainly wasn't thanks to any overzealousness. However, there are things in his life Suna works a little harder for, things that motivates him, drives him.

Things he loves and is passionate about. Volleyball? Sure thing.

Osamu?

“Scream _Luigi_ if you can’t take it anymore, ‘kay?” he whispers against Osamu’s lips.

Love and passion don’t even _start_ to cover it. 

Suna huffs a laugh when Osamu struggles to kick him in the chest but gives up, arching under him instead as he throws his head back when Suna pushes a first finger inside him. He pulls back slowly, dragging it on when the tip of his finger brushes over the sensitive bundle of nerves that has Osamu squearm.

The angle is _perfect,_ Osamu isn’t going to be able to scream anything coherent. Suna makes sure his legs are secured against his chest, hooking an arm around them, then he picks up the pace.

It’s almost unfair or it would _be_ if Osamu hadn’t been begging for it all morning.

Suna certainly doesn’t feel guilty when he rubs over that spot restlessly, forcing Osamu to grip the edge of the washing machine tightly.

His heartbeat speeds up a little when Osamu groans his name and pushes back against his hand, but it's really when Osamu looks up to try and _glare_ through half-lidded eyes that Suna is done for.

He bites his bottom lip viciously and resists the urge to reach down and stroke himself. Osamu’s bravado is short-lived after that.

Suna adds a second finger, just when the tub starts spinning and the dull vibration under Osamu turns vivid. Suna pushes him up the washing machine to get him to feel it, then he mercilessly picks him apart.

They don’t get to see each other too _often_ and sometimes they’ll spend the whole week-end without having sex, because there are just so many wholesome things to do with your best friend. However, they had years to learn everything about each other’s bodies and Suna would gladly explain Osamu it doesn’t take to be an Olympian or a porn star to have him come undone just on his fingers in a few minutes... that it only takes knowing the love of your life by heart.

But they’re in the middle of a filthy improvised quicky in the laundry room and Suna knows how to read the room. More than that, he knows how to read Osamu’s little throaty noises and breathing patterns and they’re precisely telling him that his boyfriend is about to tip over the edge.

Suna presses a third finger in, thrusting them in shallow, quick motions while he releases his grip on Osamu’s thighs to ease his other hand down until he finds Osamu’s leaking cock. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his dick, straining in his boxers, is throbbing.

“You made your point,” Osamu suddenly gasps, breathless.

It only urges Suna to touch him _more._ He fists his cock and pumps it at the same relentless pace his fingers are fucking him.

“Rin...” 

One of Osamu’s hands leaves the edge of the machine to fly to Suna's wrist, gripping him tightly.

Suna is _panting_ and he’s not even inside him yet but Osamu looks so wrecked. Maybe he’s a little too enthusiastic, but Suna can’t help it.

“Shit!”

The hot spurt of come that fills his fist makes Suna snap out of the state of trance he slowly worked himself into more than Osamu’s loud curse but then Osamu starts clenching around his fingers and Suna realizes he’s not quite _out_ of it, literally.

He pulls his fingers back, his throat tightening when he hears Osamu’s moan as he’s left empty and writhing once again.

It drives Suna crazy. Osamu is sprawled under him, legs trembling against Suna’s chest, pupils blown wide as he looks up at him with glazed over eyes…

Suna barely pushes down his pants, just enough to free his cock then his fingers slick with cum and remnants of lube are curling around the aching length and he starts jerking off clumsily.

The head of his cock taps against the back of Osamu’s thigh repeatedly as he pumps himself frantically, eyes glued to the debauched picture on display. At this point, Suna isn't really thinking, he just wants to chase his own pleasure.

Osamu’s eyes flutter as he fights to keep them open, but while seconds pass and Suna doesn’t let up, Osamu seems to come back to his senses more and more.

Suna doesn’t really pay attention, he just wants some release and he’s not as prideful as Osamu so he’s fine with not following through with his big threats of making him come twice as long as he gets to stare at his lover’s beautiful face and get off.

But… there’s a frown on said beautiful face. More and more and obvious, enough to distract Suna.

“The _fuck_ are you _doin’?_ ” Osamu eventually croaks out, voice as wrecked as he looks like.

Suna shudders, hand faltering.

“Rin?”

“I—” Suna finds out he’s the one who can’t form coherent words, and if he wasn’t so high, it would be infuriating.

Osamu doesn’t give him the time to think about that. Instead he bends his legs to take off the underwear trapping his ankles and when he spreads his legs again, it’s to wrap them around Suna’s waist and forcefully drag him in.

A strategic mistake, because Suna's desperately hard cock all but _stabs_ Osamu’s balls and they both yelp in pain but Osamu still doesn’t let go of him. Suna braces himself last second, hands slapping on the machine’s worktop and bracketing Osamu’s sides. They avoid headbutting each other only because Osamu slumps against the wall behind him but he pulls Suna down by grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt.

The machine under them suddenly stops with the furious buzz, tub spinning lazily as the clothes get soaked through the rinsing cycle.

Now that Suna can pay closer attention, he studies his lover’s face from up close and it _is_ quite the nasty frown.

“Get inside me, _now,_ Rin,” Osamu growls low in his throat.

He stresses each word out and Suna can feel each of them all the way down to his throbbing dick.

He doesn’t really need to be told twice.

He _was_ trying to be considerate of Osamu after wringing an orgasm out of him so ruthlessly but if Osamu is asking—no, _bossing him around_ like that, Suna can’t really bring himself to care about overstimulating him a little.

Suna still hears himself ask “You sure?” through the wet sounds his hand makes when working over his cock to coat himself with fresh lube. He hisses through the cold feeling, not mad it actually slaps some sense into him.

Osamu’s heel drills into his tailbone for answer, his mouth too busy claiming Suna’s.

Suna doesn’t waste another second, slamming into him with a loud snap. Osamu’s cry is lost on Suna’s lips, and when Suna dares to look at him through the kiss, he can see Osamu’s eyes rolling back. It's the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

He might be _inside_ him, Suna can’t guarantee Osamu is coming a second time before the end of that stupid program because he is on the verge of losing it himself.

Suna finds Osamu’s hips to ground himself, wrapping his hands just above the toned V cut of his abs. He feels the muscles, suppresses a shiver. Suna is too weak for Osamu's body, but being too eager had the advantage of not getting rid of all their clothes and Suna doesn’t regret it much now that he can touch but not _see_ how hot his boyfriend is and spare himself the embarrassment of coming after _one_ thrust.

He’s not far from it, though. Especially with Osamu panting into his mouth and announcing: “Callin’ the Olympic committee to tell them you and your stamina are full of shit.”

Bold words for someone whose claim is literally fucked out of him, Suna will give him that, but well, if he can’t last, he'll make Osamu bite his words.

“Fuck! What—oh god!” Osamu gasps. “Rin?”

Suna doesn’t answer, instead he keeps bending Osamu backward until he’s half folded awkwardly over the washing machine, half pressed into the wall so Suna can bring a knee to prop himself up against the worktop. His hands curl around Osamu’s calves to keep his legs open, ruining his boyfriend’s already precarious balance and Suna starts driving inside him as deep as he can get. The position is straining but offers the perfect leverage to abuse Osamu's prostate and keep him down at the same time.

Osamu can’t hold onto anything but Suna and that's not enough to control his own movements and he has no choice but to submit to the brutal pace. 

The tub kicks under them, speeding up like crazy, announcing the beginning of the last spin program. The vibration resonates throughout their whole bodies — which is particularly weird for Suna when his balls slap against the top of the machine but has the merit of taking his mind out of the gutter long enough to push Osamu toward a second orgasm.

He lets one of his lover's legs drop in the crook of his arm for support but moves his hand to Osamu’s crotch instead. His eyes go wide as Suna finds his cock as hard as it was a few minutes ago, then a manic grin curls on his lips.

“Time’s up,” he taunts, leaning down to lick Osamu’s chin up to his mouth, tasting salt on the tip of his tongue along the way.

They’re sweaty and sticky and the washing machine seems to be just as much at the end of its rope as they are, if the furious rumbling and awful staccato of tremors are any clue. It's about time they give in.

“Shut—shu—nnnh!”

Osamu’s whole body jerks when Suna thumbs the head of his sensitive cock but then one of Osamu’s hands circles his waist to settle at the small of Suna’s back, unable to pull him in but cleary _trying_ and that is what pushes Suna over the edge.

He lunges forward, grinding deep into Osamu while pumping his cock through sloppy wet sounds and what sounds like sobbing moans. Suna’s hips stutter and Osamu drinks the drawn out grunt that falls off his lips as he comes inside him. 

“St—stop! Stop, Rin… please, st—”

It takes a few seconds for Suna to come down from his high and realize he’s _still_ jerking Osamu off through an orgasm that he's clearly done riding and that his boyfriend must be dying under the overwhelming attention. 

Suna looks like a kid caught hand in the bag when he withdraws, both hands hanging near his face as he gives Osamu an apologetic pout. 

The washing machine is probably Miya manufactured because it chooses that exact moment to go off and signal the end of the cycle with a dramatic _beep_. A true attention seeker, very much like—

“Noooooooooooo, Rin! I hate you!” 

Like someone else Suna knows.

Osamu — who somehow doesn’t feel like collapsing from exhaustion the way Suna dies to do right now — starts pummelling his boyfriend’s chest with weak but determined fists.

Suna fights his way through the storm to peck him on the lips before pushing himself back up. He slides out of Osamu in the process and crawls off the machine’s worktop.

“I hate this, I hate you! It was really good,” Osamu keeps whinging incoherently, trying to sit although his stance is clearly wobbly. “I hate, I—”

“You hate it?” Suna interrupts him, arching an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you _Luigi_ your way out of it when you had the chance, if you _hated_ it?”

“You don’t understand,” Osamu groans heavily.

Suna’s mouth is ripped by a yawn. Damn, he’s _drained._

“No, I really don’t,” he concedes. “What’s your deal?”

Osamu finally slides off the washing machine, legs obviously trembling. Suna can’t help but look him over with a fond smile.

“My ass is all tingly. That’s the fuckin’ deal!”

He looks purely outraged and Suna… Suna just giggles like crazy. It’s automatically tamed by the furious urge to yawn again. His jaw hurts from the transition but he still eyes Osamu with undisguised mockery.

“You’re the one who brought up the plumber script, I just tried to be a considerate boyfriend,” he says when his jaw finally stops trying to unhinge itself.

“Well now my butt won’t stop itching! I have phantom buzz in my butt!”

Suna isn’t giggling at this point, he barks a loud laugh at the absurd sentence.

“That’s—why are you so cute when you literally say the most stupid things,” he complains, trying to approach Osamu to steal a hug.

He’s stopped by a menacing index finger pointed directly in his face.

“ _Don’t_ try to woo me again, you wrung me dry,” Osamu warns him very seriously.

“I wasn’t—”

“But!” Osamu’s finger pokes him on the nose. “If you’re gonna do it, do it on the bed or the couch, ya jerk.”

And with that, Osamu storms out of the laundry room, chin held up high and ass completely bare and gleaming with various questionable fluids. Suna stares after him, dumbfounded.

“The what? You’re not _serious,_ right? ‘Samu, you just said—”

“Give me five minutes and a shower but _then_ trust me when I say you can get off your high horse, mister Olympian. Ya think you’re the only one with unparalleled stamina? I grew up racing ‘Tsumu, so think again,” he hears his boyfriend say from the adjacent room. 

He _is_ serious. _This_ is serious, Suna realizes as he steals a glance at the washing machine, the glistening top — ugh, more _chores —_ and the crumbs of the destroyed basket on the floor.

It’s fortunate Suna held his grounds all morning and got them to be a little productive before that because...

“Damn… We’re really not netflix and chillin’ today, are we?” he sighs.

“My ass is _buzzing,_ Rin! Phantom buzz! Help meeee!” is the only overly dramatic response he gets.

Suna finds himself chuckling breathlessly again as he decides to follow his lover out of the room. Guess they’re not hanging the laundry anytime soon and he has to prove himself worthy of his silver medal, now. Suna doesn’t _really_ mind.

If it meant anything to Osamu, Suna would work himself to the bone for the gold. Any category and sport ever. But Osamu couldn’t give a damn about that, just like Suna knows he is only playing with all the taunting because Osamu’s in the mood for whatever reason.

Suna is not a fool, though. Stamina or not, Osamu _limped_ out of the laundry room on unsteady legs and a _buzzing_ butt so the only other physical trial they’ll go through today will be a team effort for a lazy cuddle session.

Suna really doesn't mind, he _loves_ that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ See you soon!


	2. ritournelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags dropped (from Grocery shopping to Banter) with this second part ♥  
> also POV!Osamu in this one

“Oh, while we’re in this aisle, let’s not forget—”

“Tsumu’s tuna,” Rin finishes the sentence for Osamu. "Gotcha."

Osamu grins as Rin balances their basket in the crook of his elbow to reach the top shelf in front of them.

His sweatshirt rides up a little but Osamu doesn't get a peek at his boyfriend's lower back. Instead he gets to see the bottom of Rin's crinkled t-shirt. 

Osamu shakes his head fondly and steps right behind his lover. Rin jolts when Osamu's hands settle on his hips and the tip of his nose brushes the back of his ear. 

"What do you think you're doing, good sir? And in the middle of the convenience store, no less?" Rin mutters mischievously, tilting his back slightly as he holds the straining pose. 

Osamu snickers, hands sliding under his lover's sweatshirt promisingly… just to grab the shirt underneath and tuck it back in his pants unceremoniously. 

"Nothin' you'd actually be down to. You, _sir,_ are shameless," Osamu says as he steps back. 

He gives Rin's butt a light slap to punctuate his taunt and strolls away with a satisfied smirk and a smug look on his face. 

A can of tuna flies toward his nose the next second; Osamu catches it mid-air easily. 

"Is that the right brand? I never remember," Rin asks with an innocent shrug when Osamu pretends to scowl at the missed attempt on his life. 

"It doesn't matter. He'll eat any tuna, right out the can."

Rin joins Osamu by a canned vegetables stand. 

"Damn, he really picked up bad habits while I was away," he comments absent-mindedly, fingers ghosting over the back of Osamu's hand when they reach for the same jar of soybean sprouts. 

"Not really. He was always like that, you just didn't pay attention because you only have eyes for me." 

Osamu's fingers linger under Rin's palm. 

"You wish."

A swing of the hips and Rin almost makes Osamu lose his balance and fall back on his ass. 

"It's the truth. I recall two months ago you came back to Osaka and forgot he existed until he walked in on us havin' sex and bounced on yer sorry ass."

Osamu gives Rin a taunting lookover but barely mouthes the word _sex_ despite the aisle being empty and Rin's smirk is even more smug than his own. 

"Sorry for being caught off guard by _that_ and prioritizing having _sex_ with my boyfriend," he drawls, whispering the word with emphasis to mock Osamu. "Anyway, without surprise that little shit did that because he was famished and wanted some attention so… not my fault _you_ forgot about him nor can I help it if he's a fucking pig."

"I didn't forget about him," Osamu mutters. "It is your fault for abandoning me too often. Can't blame a desperate man for bein' in love with ya."

This time — and although Osamu didn't do it only to get back at Rin but because it's the _raw_ stupid truth — his little declaration leaves his lover at a loss for words.

It lasts a few seconds where Osamu wonders if Rin didn't take it wrong and thinks he's serious about him _abandoning him too often,_ because that part isn't true at all. They always tease each other about it but they're doing just fine with the absence and the distance that sometimes stretches a little too long. 

Suddenly, though, Rin dissipates his concerns by taking a brutal step and invading Osamu's space. His lips brush his jaw as they travel to his ear with a low drawl:

"Grab whatever you need so we can cook that stupid lunch and let's head home. You need to take responsibility for what you just said."

Osamu swallows the thick lump in his throat, tongue drying a little on the spot. 

"I'll lock Tsumu on the balcony," he agrees with an eager nod.

"Poor cat," Rin chuckles. 

"With the tuna," Osamu supplies with an eyeroll. 

He’s not a monster and he’s stupidly attached to this cat. A little stray with fauve fur that found them one day. No chip, tattoo, or collar were found when the kitten took shelter on their balcony a year and a half ago during a particularly violent typhoon.

Rin is the one who let the poor thing in, and Osamu kept him warm and fed him through the next few days. Once the kitten had recovered, he opened the window bay again to set him free but he never really left.

Osamu keeps finding him at the window almost every day and although it’s still a pretty wild and independant little gremlin, the tiny monster seems to be more than happy to spend the winter nights indoor this year, snuggling in bed with them. 

Rin had enough of the status quo and brought him to the vet after a whole season of them housing and feeding a pet that didn’t seem to belong to them. Osamu adamantly calling the kitten _it_ while getting nervous every time they wouldn’t find him on the balcony two days in a row was exasperating enough.

“Vet said it’s a male. So meet Tsumu. As loud, as blond, as clingy, as messy and losing his shit over tuna as his human counterpart. That way you can both send us selfies when we have to travel with the team and you’re alone in Osaka,” Rin had said, dropping the kitten on the floor of their living-room, a new shiny tag dangling from his little neck.

Osamu feels a pang of fondness in his chest at the memory but he doesn't give a thought to it before he grabs his lover by the hand to urge him over to the next aisle. 

They don't hold hands much in public but Osamu wants to do it now. It's been their neighborhood for almost three years and although he was scared of any public display of affection when they were teens, he became pretty unapologetic about being in love with the most gorgeous and awesome man on this planet full of stupid prejudices. 

The cashier never glares at them when they get a little too cheesy. In fact, the old man gives them free chuupets every time Rin is back home.

Maybe he's into Rin? Osamu thinks he's onto something there but gets laughed at every time he brings it up. Osamu should keep an eye on his man if the seventy wrinkly years old cashier is hitting on his boyfriend. One can never be too careful…

"You never get tired of these stupid chuupets, do ya?“ he asks as they step out of the store twenty minutes later. 

"I'm weak for the cashier's advances, what can I say?" Rin answers, playing innocent — as if he hasn't heard Osamu's wild theories a thousand times.

“Maybe you should invite ‘im and share some Italian cuisine with the man. Maybe he’ll bring more jelly sticks over and you can swoon over ‘im while—”

“Now, now, ‘Samu,” Rin cuts the rant before Osamu can live up to the Miyas’ name and be too dramatic. “Do you think I’d ever trade a romantic meal with my boyfriend who got inspired to cook Italian food because I railed him while singing the _Super Mario Bros._ theme?”

Osamu is left gaping on the sidewalk as Rin shrugs nonchalantly and walks away.

Blunt. Rin can be so blunt when Osamu is the least prepared. It's always been like this. To the point and curt, most of the time Rin doesn't waste saliva on people but he sure does on Osamu. 

He doesn't mind, never did — quite the opposite, actually — even if it sometimes leaves him on the pavement with a crimson face. 

“I’m almost done, can you bring the Tiramisu out?"

Osamu observes Rin from the corner of his eye as his lover moves to the fridge to comply. He's almost done chopping the basil that goes in the Spaghetti and is about to add the last dash of olive oil when Osamu realizes Rin is stuck in a crouch in front of the last shelves of the fridge. 

It takes him a mere second to get what's happening. Rin is taking pictures of the cake even before taking it out. Osamu's assumptions are confirmed to be correct when his boyfriend reaches up to blindly discard his phone on the counter on his left. He gets to his feet a few seconds later and turns around with the Tiramisu's plate in hands and the happiest smile on his face. 

Osamu grips the handle of his knife a little harder for a second. He's beautiful all the time, but there always was something about Rin's genuine smiles, the ones that make his almond eyes wrinkle at the corner and soften the sharpness of his gaze, that gets to Osamu. 

"I think I'm getting the hang of it. What's the chef's opinion?" Rin asks when he drops the platter holding the dessert on the counter next to Osamu. 

Osamu leans over it with a critical look for good measure — as if he was a Milanese chef and not the master of Onigiri and all rice-based dishes that were ever created in the Japanese Islands. 

Not that he isn't skillful in the kitchen no matter the recipe, but still, Osamu knows he's full of it when he answers without looking at Rin: "I guess we're gettin' somewhere but the texture will do everything and I recall you didn't dip the biscuits in the coffee, you _dunked_ them there and drowned the hell out of them."

"Flavor," Rin dismisses him, leaning too so they're both hovering over the creamy dessert. 

Osamu's hand flashes by habit, reaching for Rin's bangs and drawing them back behind his ear. 

"I don't wanna taste weird shampoo flavor in my stuff, Rin."

It's probably the hundredth time he says that. And for the hundredth time, his lover grins and answers: "It's citrus, you like citrus, Osamu."

"Not in my Tiramisu, you heathen," Osamu counters, hooking a finger in the back of Rin's collar to pull him back. 

"It's _my_ Tiramisu, too. I made this,” Rin protests, wrapping his arms protectively around the dessert’s plate, refusing to let go.

Osamu can’t help but find him endearing, even though he’s a direct threat to a very precious dish they spent the evening making together and had to wait a whole night to savour. It’s actually the first time they manage to pull off something that ends up looking like the illustration of a fancy recipe book when they work together.

It’s only taken _years_ to get there. 

But Rin is trying, all the time. It’s one of Osamu’s favorite things when they get to spend a few days together. He had always thought that after opening a restaurant and spending hours in the kitchen there, day after day, he’d get tired of cooking when coming home but he couldn’t have been more wrong, especially when his disaster-in-the-kitchen of a lover decided to upgrade his skills in the field.

“ _We_ made this,” Osamu finally corrects him, no longer interested in teasing Rin.

Instead he steps behind him, arms bracketing Rin’s body and trapping him against the counter. He slots his chin in the crook of his neck and feels Rin shiver slightly.

“How cheesy,” Rin breathes out, turning his head nonetheless to let Osamu nuzzle his cheek.

“The Tiramisu’s base _is_ cheese, mascarpone cheese,” Osamu agrees as if he doesn’t know what Rin means.

“You’re a smartass.”

“Look who’s talkin’,” Osamu chuckles.

Then he suddenly sucks in a breath as Rin spontaneously grabs his hand and brings one of Osamu's fingers to his mouth.

He takes no detour and sucks on his index finger, his tongue curling around the digit, lapping away the—

“Basil,” Rin says as he releases Osamu’s finger with a light _pop._ “I like that. Why don’t we use it more often?”

Because of many reasons but Osamu has a hard time phrasing them right now thanks to the awful brain freeze he’s suffering. His lover’s tongue darts out again, poking the tip of Osamu’s index with it shamelessly.

Rin is holding his wrist, moving his arm up but doesn't lick on Osamu's finger again. Instead his tongue draws a stripe down the digit, then travels to his palm while he exhales a blissful sigh. Osamu’s stomach does a flip and he finds himself moving forward, pressing Rin into the counter even more. 

The tongue licking his palm doesn’t stop, dragging down toward the crook of Osamu’s wrist slowly. There’s clearly no basil to taste there but that doesn’t seem to deter Rin. The tantalizing motion eggs Osamu on. 

A pair of lips kisses his wrist gently, followed by a little nip under his thumb the next second.

Osamu feels his blood boiling, his face heating up. Before he realizes it, he’s grinding down against Rin’s ass, nuzzling the side of his throat, breathing heavily down Rin’s neck.

His mind is slowly starting to reel but not enough to miss the way his lover’s lips curl against his skin.

“Osamu. The basil,” Rin mutters, nibbling on his middle finger as his mouth goes up.

Osamu answers with a moan when the digit gets swallowed like his index a few moments ago. His cock stirs in his pants. 

“Focus,” Rin whispers when he releases him, teeth scraping his skin lightly.

“Sorry, old ‘Samu can't come to the phone right now, because he’s fuckin’ dying,” Osamu mumbles in the crook of his neck, latching on the spot where Rin’s shoulder meets his neck.

“If you can quote Taylor Swift, you can answer my question,” he’s scolded.

But Rin has a weird way of scolding him, since he starts rutting back against Osamu’s hardening cock.

“Look, I’ll make basil flavored onigiris if ya want, just—” Osamu doesn’t finish the sentence, both hands flying to Rin’s waist to grip him firmly.

He misses his lover’s ministrations already but Osamu is quick to readjust Rin’s ass over his cock, pressing him just right against his crotch, his left hand running along Rin's lower back to make him bend over the counter.

Osamu lets go of a long, trembling sigh, reveling in the friction.

“‘Samu.”

Osamu grunts as an answer, forcing Rin's body down even more. 

"Osamu," Rin comes again. 

"Mmh," Osamu hums, rolling his hips into a persistent grind that makes his head spin. 

"Osamu, you said no shampoo in the Tiramisu," his boyfriend insists and Osamu can't really pinpoint why, head thrown backward, eyes closing ever so slightly as he keeps rutting against Rin. "You'll be mad, I swear. Ruining our perfect dessert we made with— _ah!_ love!" 

Rin almost bangs his fist on the counter trying to grasp something to hold onto and that makes Osamu snap out of it a little. 

The time for him to really get a grip, Rin squirms his way out of his grip and turns around. He's too fast, fast enough for Osamu to miss the hand that lands in his face. 

And it's not just a hand. Rin's fingers are covered in something cold, wet and puffy and that substance spreads to Osamu's nose and lips. 

The scent of coffee immediately invades his nostrils, his eyes widen. 

Rin is smirking, still caged between the counter and Osamu's body, fingers covered in Tiramisu hanging mid-air between them now that he faces him. 

"I swear it was either that or my hair," he explains with a made-up sheepish look. 

Osamu steps in reflexively, acting threatening to make a point but—

"Wow, put that kitchen knife back, you’re stabbing me,” Rin says, although instead of pushing Osamu away, he circles his neck with his arms and pulls him closer.

Their erections brush through their pants and Osamu’s torn moan is lost on Rin’s tongue as his lover licks at the cream he spread there.

It drags along Osamu’s bottom lip, flicks at the corner of his mouth, retreats so Rin can taste the cream and hum appreciatively then it’s back to toy with Osamu’s upper lip. Osamu parts them, hoping Rin will deepen the kiss but instead his lover laps him clean, and when he’s done with Osamu's mouth, he presses a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose instead. 

And that is clearly the only chaste part of their embrace. Osamu’s hands are splayed over Rin’s back, under his shirt, and although no kitchen knives are to be found between them—

“We need to take care of that, it could become dangerous,” Rin observes, one of his hands dropping to Osamu’s chest and sliding down his torso until it’s hooking in the waistband of his pants.

“Yer feelin’ threatened by my boner when you just destroyed our only successful attempt at making a dessert together ever?” Osamu croaks out, eyes narrowing into slits.

“Priorities,” Rin nags, leaning forward to nibble on Osamu’s earlobe.

“Ye, well watch yer back!”

“Don’t need to.”

Proving his point, and before Osamu can flip him around with the intent to bend him over the remnants of Tiramisu, Rin reverses their positions, pushing Osamu against the counter, then disappearing under his line of sight.

He makes quick work of Osamu's pants, dragging them down in a swift motion and immediately reaching for his boxers.

“Whatcha doin’ Rin?” Osamu asks, gripping the edge of the counter to look down at Rin who’s kneeling in front of him.

He's rewarded with a foxy grin before Rin's lips connect with the exposed skin right above Osamu’s underwear. He drags them down slowly but all Osamu can focus on is the merciless tongue that toys along the v-line that dips toward his groin.

Rin has always been weak for that specific spot — always — a solid reason why Osamu didn’t drop going to the gym after he stopped playing volleyball. Sure, racing and humiliating Atsumu was a nice motivation to stay in shape but his boyfriend losing it every time Osamu’s abs are exposed remains his biggest drive.

“Getting a new dessert,” Rin mutters while peppering butterfly kisses along his skin.

Osamu bites his bottom lip, Rin can’t be serious… But he looks like it, ready to get rid of his boxers for good.

“We haven’t even eaten the main dish y— _oh fuck!_ ”

A _slapping_ sound fills the room, not loud enough to censor his swear word but loud enough to make Osamu’s mind go blank. 

Rin ended up almost tearing off his underwear and Osamu _is_ hard. As hard as Rin’s jawbone, hence the slap.

He can’t close his eyes, nor look away from his lover’s face, as baffled as he’s turned on. Osamu is mesmerized by the sight of his cock resting against Rin’s cheek. Cheek adorned with a lovely dimple caused by his mischievous smirk. 

Rin’s pupils are blown a little too wide. He is beautiful and he _looks_ hungry, Osamu will give him that. Yet he doesn’t move to take care of the painful hard-on that’s standing in his face.

“You’re right,” Rin says slowly, and Osamu can feel his lips moving along the side of his dick, eliciting a violent shiver.

But although the ghost feeling of his mouth on Osamu is promising, he’s cruelly denied. Rin flashes a devastatingly bright grin then props himself on his knees to reach over the counter, behind Osamu’s back. He’s too fast again.

There are a few rattling noises then the distinctive sound of glass clicking on the ground. Osamu cranes his neck to take a curious look at his feet where Rin dropped the items he’s retrieved. 

The Tiramisu plate is there, and so is…

“Wait, why—what is—”

“Let me do the cooking,” Rin shuts him up, settling back in front of him, a hand pushing on Osamu's thigh to hold him against the surface behind him while the other finds its way to his dick.

Osamu throws his head back instantly, biting back a moan at the cold press as Rin smears some dessert all the way up to the head of his cock, following the thick vein pulsing under his finger.

His hands disappear then Rin’s tongue curls around the base instead, lapping a long, languid strip all the way up. Osamu’s lets go of the counter to grasp his lover’s hair instead, in terrible need of a solid grip. 

He knows he should focus. Rin didn’t just grab some Tiramisu… more food is about to get wasted or at least misused, but there’s no trying to concentrate on anything else than the tight heat enveloping him.

Osamu is gone when Rin’s lips close around the tip of his cock, sucking off the cream left and releasing him with another exaggerated popping sound. 

“Rin,” Osamu breathes out, cracking an eye open but refusing to look down. “You can’t cook for shit.”

“I can when my boyfriend teaches me. Don’t you know? He’s a chef. You should see him boss me around the kitchen,” Rin teases and there’s a hand back between Osamu’s legs, tapping the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh to silently ask Osamu to part them. “It’s really hot when he does,” Rin adds, hot breath caressing the wet trail he left down his cock.

Osamu’s eyes close again, a poor whine stuck in his throat as he parts his legs obediently. Seems like Rin’s taking the lead, chef or not, but Osamu is just too whipped to deny him.

He grips down his hair harder, not forgetting to brace himself… because for as much as he’s slowly losing his mind, Osamu _knows_ what Rin did with that _bottle of olive oil._

He can’t help but gasp loudly nonetheless when slick fingers slide behind his balls, Rin dragging it like the tease he is. He’s _magnanimous_ enough to touch the tip of his tongue to Osamu’s cock again but, seriously—

“What ‘re ya fuckin’ around for?”

The index finger covered in oil that is pressed against Osamu’s hole stills; the tongue toying with his frenulum withdrawing.

Osamu finally looks down, trying to muster enough of his frustration to glare. He has no doubt it’s not that effective, but Rin cocks an eyebrow at him, playing innocent, so it probably works a little at least.

“Told you I needed directions,” he says with a slight shrug.

Osamu’s grip on Rin’s hair tightens. Satisfaction flashes in his lover’s eyes. 

“You fucked up the moment you took my ass for a stupid caesar salad."

The snort that Rin barely contains should be insulting but Osamu is too hot and bothered to care.

“What's a caesar salad?” he asks, the tip of his finger ever so still against Osamu’s entrance.

The frustration reaches its peak.

“Oh my god, Rin. How about you suck my dick to find out!” Osamu growls with an aggravated roll of his eyes.

His nails scrap the top of his lover’s head as he resists the urge to shove Rin’s face into his crotch. The bastard seems to be having the time of his life, chuckling lightly at that. 

“Is this a quest? Am I unlocking a new recipe if I do it right?” 

Osamu wants to whine at this point. He’s utterly defeated when he stares at the ceiling, head lolling back.

“If you rely on your blowjob skills to learn how to cook we might get somewh—gnn, yes. _Yes,_ just—Yes!” 

Half the rest of the words get lost in a rambling mess when Rin’s lips wrap around him again and he sinks halfway down his cock.

Osamu chokes on his own spit when he melts against the counter and Rin gently pushes a slick finger inside him. It slips past the fluttering ring of muscle with a disconcerting ease thanks to the olive oil.

Osamu silently swears to himself is definitely getting more of it, Italian cuisine or not.

Rin doesn’t go too far, crooking his finger before he gets too deep and Osamu doubles over, forgetting about anything that isn’t his boyfriend’s mouth on his dick or his finger rubbing against his prostate.

A gurgling sound does remind him that Rin has a gag reflex and bending over him like this is likely to choke him so Osamu gets a grip and forces himself to stand up straight. 

Rin doesn’t seem deterred in the least by the rough motion because as soon as he has pulled back a little, he happily hums around Osamu. He hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head down.

“Fuuuuuck,” Osamu moans, arching off the surface behind him, desperately and mindlessly seeking the warmth of Rin’s mouth but he’s pinned back immediately and inevitably sinks down on his hand. “Keep goin’, Rin.”

His voice breaks when his boyfriend works a second finger inside him, grinding over the bundle of nerves that makes Osamu’s cock twitch on his tongue.

A slight tremor around him is the telltale sign that Rin is enjoying himself but Osamu can’t hear him moan over the squelching sounds filling the room and his own heavy breathing. All that matters is the way Rin swallows more and more of him without Osamu even thrusting down his throat. 

Truth is, Osamu doesn’t even know if he could do that. His thighs have been trembling for a solid minute and if it wasn’t for the edge of the counter digging in the small of his back offering some support, Osamu would probably slip on the floor.

Rin doesn’t need Osamu to guide him — not that they don’t enjoy getting a little rough when he goes down on him at times — and eagerly shifts on his knees to deepen the angle.

Osamu can’t cover his mouth this time, too busy holding onto Rin’s hair, when a torn moan escapes his lips. The tip of his cock rams against the back of his lover’s throat, fingers pressing deliciously into his prostate.

“Mmh—gonna come,” he articulates through gritted teeth.

Rin sucks harder, pulling almost all the way back before relaxing his jaw and sinking down on him again. He slams his fingers inside Osamu at the same time. Osamu thinks he’s crying his name out but the air is punched out of his lungs and the plea is silent.

At least, it is the first few times Rin repeats the merciless combo but when the onslaught gets too overwhelming and Osamu knows he’s seconds away from letting go, he finally gets his lover’s name out.

Rin doesn’t budge. Osamu looks down helplessly, hips moving on their own accord and the sight pushes him over the edge.

Rin looks up through half lidded eyes, bangs falling across his face in a mess, swollen lips stretched around him and shimmering with spit and pre-come.

Gorgeous.

“Rin,” Osamu breathes out, strangled. “I’m—”

Rin hums around him, hollowing his cheeks, burying his nose in the curls at the base of his dick and stilling there as Osamu comes down his throat.

His entire body shivers, one of his hands flying back to curl at the edge of the counter in a grip of steel instead of tearing Rin’s hair off.

It’s the only mindful gesture Osamu can come up with before losing himself. He trusts Rin to pull back when it’s too much, after years of practice.

Except the _years_ of practice _really_ turned Rin into some kind of blowjob genius and he has no qualms nor difficulties quietly swallowing the hot spurts of cum down, even sucking gently on his way back, making sure there’s not a drop left when he clicks his tongue and looks up with a satisfied grin.

Osamu’s breathing is erratic but his vision gets less and less blurry as he comes down and meets his sparkling olive eyes. Somehow, Rin managed to pull back his fingers at some point too and Osamu is left completely stunned and empty but it only hits him now. 

On cue, his knees buckle under him and he drops on the floor, forehead bumping with his boyfriend’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.

It’s not long before Rin starts chuckling again.

Osamu peels himself off the crook of his neck to give him a quizzical look, utterly spent.

“Didn’t think Tiramisu was the bitter kind of dessert,” Rin explains.

“It’s not—Uh, _very funny,”_ Osamu drawls with an exaggerated sigh. 

“I _am_ very funny. But more important,” Rin says as he grabs him by the shoulders to force Osamu to face him properly.

He stops chuckling; smiling altogether, his expression morphing into a grave one.

Osamu gathers the last of his strength to quirk an eyebrow.

“Did I grind enough XP with this quest to unlock that salad recipe?” 

Osamu’s face instantly drops back on Rin’s shoulder as he snorts.

“You barely got one dessert right—”

“And I savored it,” Rin answers with a blissful little sigh.

Osamu grins against his neck, bringing a hand between them to search for and find the bulge in Rin’s pants.

“Mmh? Left any for me?” 

“You didn’t answer—”

Osamu looks up again, pressing an obnoxious smacking kiss to Rin’s lips to shut him up.

“Who cares about a stupid salad recipe, Rin? As if you’re ever gonna eat it without thinkin’ about _that,”_ he says, eyes drifting to the abandoned bottle of olive oil.

“Maybe I want to remember _that,_ so when I travel away and I’m all alone in my hotel room I can order a caesar salad and—”

Osamu claps his hand over his boyfriend’s mouth this time.

“You’re not gonna finish this sentence and if you facetime me from Canada next week with a stupid salad, I’m blockin’ your number,” Osamu warns him.

Rin lets out a little laugh under his palm before darting his tongue out. Osamu immediately jerks his hand back.

“Why? I thought you liked phone sex when I’m away,” Rin purrs, parting his legs around Osamu, arms circling his neck. 

“Sunarin! Yer not makin’ me develop a sick pavlovian reflex!” Osamu protests, accent going all out, but when Rin drags him down, he goes pliant and follows until they’re lying on the floor. 

“You should be happy! I’m saying I want to remember you _all the time._ You’re just sabotaging yourself. With the love language of food, no less!”

Osamu doesn’t know how he ends up missing the last part of the taunt. His mind just gets stuck on a selective choice of words and he ends up blurting out:

“I think about you all the time when you’re away already.”

Rin’s breath catches, Osamu can feel it under him. His face suddenly heats up, the atmosphere shifting entirely and to hide how flustered he is, Osamu buries his face against Rin’s chest and mumbles:

“Not ya?”

A couple of seconds pass before Rin starts to crush him in a tight embrace.

“Of course.”

Another couple of seconds and then:

“Yes, I do, Osamu.”

Osamu feels his heart swell in his chest, suffocating with his own feelings. Rin sounds so genuine although it’s so rare to get him to word such a simple confession. It gives Osamu some kind of momentum, just the dash of boldness he needs to declare:

“Well same. And I don’t need new reflexes. Everythin’ here reminds me of you all the time. Even the goddamn _walls_ remind me of you.”

“Beautiful,” Rin teases but it falls flat — Osamu hears how husky he sounds like.

“Ya know what I mean,” Osamu mumbles.

“Do I?”

There’s no way Osamu is taking Rin’s hand to place it over his beating heart like in the movies, and there’s no way he’s telling him that it doesn’t matter where he is, it always feels like he’s _there_ with him. There’s no way today gets any cheesier…

And there’s definitely no way he’s telling Rin the _walls_ remind Osamu of him because everywhere he looks is the reminder they chose to build a life together.

“Yeah, you do, you ass. And I _really_ mean it,” Osamu simply groans against his chest.

Under his cheek, Rin’s heart beats a little faster.

“Okay, maybe I do,” his lover concedes. “Still won’t hurt to order that salad when I facetime you in case you forget.”

“Right,” Osamu snorts. “Love you too, idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much Gin and Mel for beta-reading this!  
> See you soon for the last part ♥


	3. the perfect print.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News tags for this part go from: "Porn with Feelings" to "Emotional sex"  
> Top!Osamu + Suna's POV

“Why do I come home to Toya’s dead body, Osamu?” 

A dull thump follows as Suna discards his letter jacket in the entrance. It’s a customized one, black, with the _Onigiri Miya_ white logo on the left breast in place of a team or university’s initials. Suna had it made for Osamu and immediately stole it, for _advertisement purposes,_ he said. Truth is, he loves wearing proudly his boyfriend’s brand everywhere he goes. Including across the Pacific Ocean.

“How was Ottawa?” Osamu asks, peeking around the corner of the corridor to look at Suna and his rolling duffle bag standing in the genkan.

He seems to have his arms full but still takes the time to let his eyes roam over Suna like a starved man.

Suna thinks he’s really lucky for that, because he has bags under his eyes as dark as his stolen jacket and ruffled hair from the glorious nap he awkwardly took against an armrest on the plane.

He just arrived from Kansai airport and he looks nothing like the hot stuff he likes to think he is. Osamu begs to differ, apparently, but Suna won’t let himself be blindsided by it.

“Cold. Explain the corpse, Osamu,” he insists, pointing at the remnants of their snake plant.

It’s withering and yellowish instead of the bright green it used to be… two weeks ago, when Suna left.

Osamu, who was visibly in a hurry to drop whatever he’s holding to come back and kiss him hello, freezes in the uncomfortable stance he’s been in since Suna _greeted_ him.

“Ya always tell me I don’t water the plants enough,” he says, mouth twisting in a sheepish pout. 

Suna arches an eyebrow, dropping in a crouch to touch the soft leaves that used to be perfectly rigid, eyes trained on Osamu.

“That’s why we got Toya. That’s why we got most of our succulents. So you don’t forget to water them and let them decay while I’m away,” he says, letting go of the poor thing.

“Yeah, well… I panicked,” Osamu blurts out before finally disappearing back in the main room.

Suna hears some ruffling sounds coming from this side, papers shuffled around mostly, and he can’t help but grin. Osamu is such a mess, yet Suna wouldn’t come home to anyone else.

Osamu is back the moment Suna steps out of his jet black sneakers and Suna doesn’t even have time to properly straighten up or wipes his grin off his face to pretend to be scowling at his boyfriend that Osamu is pouncing on him, squeezing him in a tight hug.

Suna huffs a laugh as he catches himself against the door frame with a hand, the other wrapping around the small of Osamu’s back to hug him back.

“Sorry I killed yer friend,” Osamu mumbles against his shoulder.

“It’s fine. His human counterpart is doing just fine, I promise. Spent the first flight trying to prevent me from sleeping,” Suna says with a smirk before nuzzling the side of Osamu’s head, dark hair tickling his nose.

“Ya didn’t sleep?” Osamu asks immediately, concern barely concealed as he pulls back just enough to scan his boyfriend’s face.

“Oh I did. From Narita to Kansai. Your brother was just as exhausted. Shut his mouth all along. Drooled on Sakusa too. Really relaxing,” Suna says with a bright smile.

“That’s barely a one-hour flight, Rin,” Osamu says, the creases between his brows deepening. 

“But a refreshing one-hour nap,” Suna objects, hands tracing Osamu’s spine lightly.

“Don’t wanna hear it. You’re gonna get your ass in the shower then go to bed. I don’t want to see your face again before well past noon,” Osamu answers without missing a beat.

Suna’s lips part silently but just when he’s about to protest, the loudest meowing sound reaches their ears.

Osamu looks over his shoulder while Suna does the same past his boyfriend, and they both see Tsumu strut along the short corridor, tail high up and whiskers bouncing as he goes. He’s curling around Suna’s ankles in seconds and that’s the only excuse Suna needs to push Osamu off him dramatically.

He picks the cat up instead, diving to avoid Osamu’s grabby hands, then ducks again to flee.

“Don’t touch me with these hands full of fingers, Miya Osamu. I’m going to take a shower then take a nap alone with my cat who doesn’t think I stink,” he says as he eyes the table in the main room on his way.

There are multiple stacks of papers there, along with Osamu’s notebook and laptop. The screen shows a very crowded excel spreadsheet, Suna cringes a little. Osamu is likely doing — and dying over — taxes for the restaurant.

He drops the joke and turns around, Tsumu stirring in his arms. Osamu is pouting in the genkan. He looks defeated and Suna feels a little bad for the teasing so he walks back to him, stealing a kiss before Osamu can ask what he’s doing.

“How about I go shower then I make you something sweet? I promise I’m not tired,” Suna whispers against his lips. “A cappuccino? Hot chocolate?”

“But you haven’t slept, Rin,” Osamu answers just as low, although it’s clear he’s torn about taking him up on the offer.

“I have three days off. I can get plenty of rest then and you can disturb me in my sleep like you love doing plenty,” Suna says, nibbling the shell of his lover’s ear.

Osamu shivers all over at the innuendo and just for that, Suna doesn’t regret lying about his sore limbs and sleep-deprived brain. 

“Cappuccino, please,” Osamu mumbles.

Tsumu meows again, true to himself, — because how dare they flirt in their own home and not give him all the attention he’s desperate for — so Suna drops the feline in Osamu’s arms. 

“I’ll be quick,” he says exactly when Osamu tells him to “take your time.”

Suna’s heart swells with love but he bites his tongue and dashes for the bathroom before they spend the entire morning making-out in the genkan. The crick in his neck could definitely use a relaxing hot shower.

Suna does recline against the door the moment he locks himself in, heaving a long sigh while he cranes his neck. It creaks and when he rolls his shoulders they feel terribly stiff. 

He’s used to not sleeping much, but a part of him wants to skip the shower and dive in their king sized bed.

Burying himself in the covers and pillows that smell like Osamu seems like the most appealing thing Suna has ever done.

But then he thinks about Osamu hunched over the table in their living room, tongue stuck between his teeth as he resists the urge to tear his hair off his head, his shoulders probably as stiff as Suna’s… and he turns the hot water on. 

They both deserve to relax and spend a few days under the covers. Together. They won’t have _that_ much time, but Suna knows Osamu at least took the next day off. Suna just thought he’d be done with paperwork before he’d get home but he tends to forget every now and then that running an entire business with multiple branches of a famous restaurant isn’t something that can be done with a snap of the finger.

As Suna strips his clothes off and retrieves a few items he needs for his shower, he thinks Osamu is the one who could help a shoulder massage. Osamu is the one who works his ass off 24/7 almost all year long. Not that Suna wants to belittle what it takes to be a professional athlete on an international level, but it’s just not the same.

He has an entire squad of physiotherapists to take care of him, a PR team to look over his work appointments and contracts, a dietician, a coach, teammates… and a caring boyfriend.

Osamu only has Suna.

Osamu only has Suna to take care of him and Suna is away two thirds of the month. He only has Suna and Suna travels all the time, sometimes in time zones that make it impossible for him to check and make sure Osamu had the strength and motivation to cook himself a proper dinner after a very long day. 

He might have just gotten home and reunited with him, but Suna suddenly finds himself yearning for the man who has been sharing his life for years. Osamu might be in the next room and Suna might not have anything to do for the next three days other than being draped over his back or hanging out in his restaurant but Suna feels like he won’t get enough of him.

Suna has known for a long time that he would never get enough of Osamu. And it has nothing to do with the fact that they live separately for a solid part of the year. Suna has known for years that he’d miss Osamu every morning just the same if he had the chance to wake up next to him every day.

Suna is terribly independent. So much so that he had never considered getting together with anyone before it happened so naturally with Osamu. He’s loyal and reliable but simply doesn’t get attached. He’s the last individual on this planet who could possibly be characterized through his relationships with people.

It doesn’t change the fact that he never feels quite complete when he’s away from the one soul in his life who brings him a sense of fulfillment. Osamu is the only person Suna could ever imagine completing the set he never knew he was a part of.

Suna had never imagined he’d follow any path, any plan ahead. Osamu just got there and instead of being the missing piece, he happens to be the reason why Suna could make the perfect blueprint of a life with someone else. 

A blueprint with surprises around each corner and that keeps improving, but it’s always fitting and always makes him feel at home.

When he steps under the hot stream of water, Suna thinks about how much he wants Osamu to feel at home with him whether he’s there or not in the mornings.

“I think I used up all the hot water,” Suna drops unapologetically as he pads through their living room half an hour later.

He’s feeling a lot less sore as he stretches his arms above his head on his way to the expensive coffee machine sitting on the countertop. Suna is perfectly aware Osamu’s eyes are tracking him and the motion. Otherwise, he’d have bothered putting a t-shirt on. But Suna is generous like that.

“It’s okay, I took a shower earlier,” Osamu answers quickly.

“I know,” Suna says as he goes on with the stretching routine and he starts the machine.

He grabs Osamu’s favorite mug next and doesn’t have to think one second as he goes on with the cappuccino preparation because if there’s one thing Suna knows how to do perfectly in a kitchen, it’s hot beverages.

He bought an expensive phone in their last year of high school thanks to some hard earned money from a part-time job as a barista and keeps making the best of his skills even years later. 

Instead he focuses on putting up a show for Osamu, his old Inarizaki track pants hanging low on his hips. He got them two sizes too loose when they were teens and even now, they always hang below the faint dimples at the small of his back.

Suna is fairly sure Osamu can see that he’s not wearing any underwear, this way. And Suna has to be careful not to show too much, so it’s not a bad thing the pants are a little too baggy.

He focuses on their conversation as he starts preparing Osamu’s drink.

“The carpet was drenched again,” Suna tells him, hiding his smirk.

“I told ya to get rid of it. We don’t need a carpet,” Osamu answers, voice barely above the clicking sounds of his keyboard.

“It’s stylish. You’re actually soaking it on purpose, aren’t you?” 

“I’d never soak a _stylish_ carpet on purpose,” Osamu tells him.

“Sounds fake to me.”

“Fake like the purpose of a carpet in a tiled italian shower?”

Suna snorts just as the milk stops frothing. He grabs the cup to pour it in the coffee, absentmindedly reaching for the cocoa powder to complete his piece of art. It doesn’t take more than thirty seconds to create a fancy heart pattern with the milk foam and sprinkle it with some chocolate.

Suna admires his handiwork and decides it will have to do because he’s getting impatient.

“You don’t know what’s fancy,” he tells Osamu, grabbing the hot cup and turning around.

Osamu looks up from his laptop and eyes him as Suna passes around the table to place the hot cup to his right.

His eyes are still glued on him when Suna pushes back a stack of paper to hop on the table with a light smile.

“I fancy ya, it’s enough,” Osamu finally answers, sitting back in his chair to get a better look at the man towering him.

“Smooth bastard,” Suna calls him out, still making sure the muscles of his forearms flex as he grips the edge of the table to lean forward with a little grin.

Osamu licks his lips without breaking eye contact then reaches blindly for his cup of cappuccino. He’s sprawled in his chair, legs spread and Suna has to refrain from hopping off already to straddle his lap. Osamu is just wearing a rumpled shirt with rolled up sleeves and worn out jeans but Suna thinks Osamu always looks terribly hot when he’s working. 

Suna might like bossing him around in bed at times, but he’s terribly weak for Osamu’s aura whenever he gets all serious about business so he can’t help worrying at his own lips as they stare at each other for long seconds of silence. 

Osamu finally closes his eyes, breaking the thick atmosphere, when he takes a first sip and actually melts in his chair like a kid.

Suna’s desire mixes with fondness and he finds himself yearning for his lover again.

“You haven’t slept much yourself, have you?” he asks without a hint of teasing this time.

Osamu gulps down some more of the hot drink before placing the mug back on the table. 

The idiot has a milk mustache; Suna’s resolve to wait and tease crumbles.

Thank god, they bought sturdy furniture because the chair doesn’t budge when he drops in Osamu’s lap in a flash, arms circling his neck so he can lean in and lick away the milk sticking to his upper lip.

“Don’t do that, I’m almost done, Rin,” Osamu tells him but his hands are already tightly wrapped around his waist, slotted just above his hip bones. “I didn’t sleep much because I woke up early to wrap this— _shit,_ ” he curses when Suna flicks his tongue to drag it tantalizingly slowly over his mouth.

“Wrap this shit?” Suna repeats with a smug smirk as he pulls away. “That’s one way to call a thriving business, sir.”

“Thriving business?”

Osamu sounds bemused. 

“Yeah. You know that whole chain of restaurants opening throughout Japan?” Suna drawls, leaning into Osamu so his bare chest brushes with the front of his boyfriend’s shirt.

He brings a hand up to thread his fingers through Osamu’s hair, the other pinching the top button of his shirt to undo it.

“Rin, I’m _almost_ done,” Osamu repeats weakly, his fingers digging into Suna’s hips. 

“It’s called _Onigiri Miya,”_ Suna ignores him. “The owner is a young entrepreneur who started from scratch. Very hot of him. Heard he used to be into sports, almost made it pro. _Again,”_ Suna’s teeth catch the lobe of Osamu’s ear, Osamu’s breath catches in his throat. “Very hot of him.”

Suna revels in the warm, heavy breathing caressing his temple. 

His hand runs down to undo another button as the pulse of his heart quickens. He missed Osamu terribly much but he wants to take his time… The hands gripping his waist aren’t moving yet, so he goes on.

“Anyway, he has no right to be the sexiest man I’ve ever met but here he is, playing the boss ass bitch in my own living room,” Suna says, teeth now grazing the sharp angle of Osamu’s jaw.

Osamu’s thighs shift under Suna; the telltale sounds he’s trying to readjust himself in his pants. Suna’s stomach does a pleasant little flip, a warm wave spreading down to his groin. The hands curled around his hips finally move to slide behind his back, pressing him more into Osamu’s body. 

“I’m not playin’,” he says, exhaling shakily as he parts his legs again now that Suna is sitting right on top of the growing bulge in his pants.

“I know. You’re an authentic boss ass bitch,” Suna teases, tugging on his boyfriend’s hair to bare his throat.

“No. I mean I’m not working, Rin. I’m doin’ taxes.”

The last words come out strangled from Suna’s mouth latching onto his Adam’s apple but Suna pulls back immediately, lips ghosting over Osamu’s skin as he clicks his tongue and drawls:

“Getting oddly specific about your restaurant’s books doesn't qualify as dirty talk, ‘Samu.”

“But that’s what I’m tryin’ to say. I’m not working for my restaurant,” Osamu says, reluctantly pushing Suna back to look at him in the eyes. “Rin, these are ours. I’m doing our taxes. That’s why I’m tryna wrapping this shit up so we can get to—”

“Wait. _Our_ taxes?” Suna almost stutters.

He definitely pulls back to stare at Osamu with a confused look then cranes his neck to try and look over his shoulder at the stacks of paper.

“Yeah? What d’ya think? Bills and stuff, incomes? Someone has to take care of it,” Osamu says, turning confused too.

“But I pay for—" Suna cuts himself off, thinking back on when they settled who would pay for what and how they'd split everything before moving in together. 

The general sensual atmosphere deflates in the process, regardless of the still prominent tent in Osamu's pants and the matching boner awakening in Suna's. But Suna is actually very confused. 

"You said it was taken care of when I gave you my accounts information," he mutters, still focused on the papers. 

"Yeah, by _me?"_ Osamu suddenly drops as if it's the most evident thing. “You need to fill some paperwork, dumbass. Who d’ya think keeps tabs on our expenses and shit? Rin, you—"

"Wait," Suna stops him again. "I thought we—I know there are papers to do but—"

Suna has always done his personal taxes, but past that… he's never really paid attention to his accounting.

He spent his high-school years in a studio flat rented by his parents then was immediately housed by his professional team in a facility. Everything was settled for him and Suna literally just had to either give money or sign some sheet he'd never pay attention to ever again. 

Then Osamu and him decided to get a place together and they split the various bills between them fairly and equally. Suna just agreed with Osamu's offer to handle things — which, at the time, seemed to mean he'd simply fill in the forms to subscribe to an internet service provider and other similar things — but now that he’s thinking about it…

Suna gapes for a second before finding his words again.

“You’ve been taking care of our accounting all this time?”

Osamu’s puzzled expression deepens and Suna feels himself blush.

“For the past three years, yeah. Like we agreed to. Are you okay? You high or somethin’?”

Suna’s face grows hotter by the second. He’s torn, almost feels faint.

Torn between the utter shame of being a sheltered little boy and the insane surge of love and affection suffocating him.

“Rin?” 

Suna snaps out of his trance, rubbing his face with a hand to try to get rid of the angry blush there, to no avail.

“Ya should go get some sleep.”

“Why did you let me make you do it, Osamu?” Suna interrupts him, averting his eyes.

“Do what?” 

The fact that Osamu doesn’t even know what Suna means makes it worse. Suna wants to hide but his need to hold Osamu is even stronger. He still wriggles a little to put some space between them but strong hands prevent him from sliding too far away.

“Everything. All the goddamn work,” he almost snaps.

“All the goddamn work? I don’t follow. Rin, it’s nothin’. I wrap a few things up while I go over the restaurant’s counts and that’s it.”

Osamu tries to pull him in again which makes Suna feel more and more conflicted. 

“I could have helped,” he mumbles.

“I’d like to see that,” Osamu scoffs. “Took me two years of accounting classes to get that shit right and I still mess up at times. Let me do this for ya, ‘kay?”

Suna’s heart flutters and he has to resist the urge to jump Osamu to ravish him right here and there. Osamu doesn’t look confused anymore. Only fond. His thumb strokes lightly over Suna’s hip bone. 

“You still shouldn’t be handling it all,” Suna says, voice slightly hoarse.

He’s suddenly jolted forward by Osamu bouncing his legs up. Suna has no choice but to hold onto his lover’s broad shoulders to avoid completely collapsing against him but it’s clear it was Osamu’s intent.

“There’s literally nothin’ to fret over.”

Suna’s attention gets caught by the beautiful and playful smile on Osamu’s face. But what really makes him crumble and get over his discomfort is the way Osamu wraps his arms around him, looking up at Suna with adoration in his eyes.

“And ‘sides… I love knowin’ I’m the reason you can come home to me to have a good time only.”

And just like that, just with a little grin and a lot of love, Suna has the confirmation there never was going to be anyone else for him. He didn’t need it, but that’s Osamu for him. Always proving how reliable he is, how much Suna is right to trust him.

How much Suna can’t get enough of him.

There’s no room for shame any longer. Suna forgets about everything that isn’t Osamu and his need to be one with him. 

Their parted lips meet desperately enough for their teeth to knock, but Suna couldn’t care less. Osamu is meeting him halfway without a care for his paperwork anymore and it makes him shudder with anticipation and desire.

Suna tries to part his leg more, to get closer, but just as he spreads them to slide further into Osamu’s lap, he has second thoughts. One of the hands on his back dived past his waistband and is kneading the taut flesh of his ass. 

Suna breathes hard into Osamu’s mouth, bucking his hips by reflex to try and chase some friction but he freezes over when Osamu’s fingers venture further down, prying his cheeks open and—

“What the hell,” Osamu breathes out very slowly against his lips, breaking the kiss as his brows furrow and he probes around some more.

Suna’s cock twitches in his track pants, leaking pre-come against the fabric.

“Did you— _Rin?”_ Osamu leans back to stare at him with wide eyes, his index slipping easily over Suna’s slick hole.

 _That_ is something that doesn’t make Suna blush, at least. They’re back in safe territory. Waters he masters perfectly. He bites his bottom lip, wriggling in Osamu’s lap to try and bait him into getting his finger _inside_ him but Osamu’s brain seems to have short-circuited. Suna grins.

“Well I was in the shower when it got me thinking… It’s not fair if I’m the only one who gets to relax,” he says, trying to control his breathing. “And since I couldn’t do the cooking or the cleaning… barely made a cup of cappuccino, in fact—”

Suna’s words die in his throat, replaced by a strangled gasp as Osamu rips his fingers off to suddenly hoist him up the table. 

The air gets knocked off his lungs as his back hits the cold surface of the table, paper sheets cascading over the edge, but Suna doesn’t get to take another breath. Osamu’s tongue invades his mouth, licking every corner of it while his hands eagerly pull down Suna’s pants and fumble with his own.

Suna would help but he’s too stunned and can’t do anything but wrap his legs around Osamu, gripping his shoulders desperately, and drown into the kiss until something way bigger than an index finger and way hotter teases his hole.

It tears a moan off Suna’s lips who throws his head back, hips tilting down to try and get Osamu inside him already. 

He still doesn’t indulge him.

“We can’t,” Osamu grunts, even though he’s clearly the one who pulled his own pants down and thrusted his dick right against Suna’s entrance.

“Says who?” Suna asks, nails raking down his biceps through the fabric of his shirt.

It's maddening.

“You need to rest,” Osamu explains, the head of his cock catching at Suna’s rim as the athlete tries to writhe under him but Osamu pins him down pretty effectively.

“That’s not what I need right now, Osamu! Work with me here, you always know what I need,” Suna pleads, hopelessly clenching around nothingness.

“But—”

“There’s no fucking _buts,”_ Suna cuts him, hands flying to Osamu’s face to cup his jaw in a tight grip, forcing him to look back. “You can’t tell me _these things_ and not act on it.”

“I—”

“I need you inside me, Osamu. _Right now._ And you need it t— _oh fuck,”_ he lets out a broken sob when Osamu thrusts in.

The stretch burns more than usual. Fifteen minutes of fingering himself impatiently in the shower can’t make up for Osamu’s cock. Especially after their too long interlude.

Osamu is big. And Suna came less prepared than he thought he was. But Suna is desperate, and so seems to be his lover.

Although, Osamu refrains from pushing further, rolling his hips in shallow thrusts to fuck into Suna slowly and let him adjust.

It’s frustrating because it applies just the minimal amount of pressure over Suna’s prostate and makes him want to fuck himself on his cock, but he also knows that if he tries to sink down now… he won’t be able to walk away on steady legs.

Osamu offers him a surprising distraction a few seconds later, burying his nose into the crook of his neck.

“I meant it, what I said. I love it, ‘cause I love ya.”

Suna doesn’t give a damn about the uncomfortable stretch between his legs anymore. He’s more concerned by the fact his heart almost just _burst_.

“So much, Rin,” Osamu goes on, mouthing the side of his throat, breathing hotly down his neck as he keeps pumping his hips — deeper and deeper every time now. “I want you to be happy, so these things don’t bother me. I’m happy to do them for ya, as long as I’m the one you go home to and I get to see you smile. I—” he pauses to look at Suna, a hand brushing his bangs off his face gently. “I love you.”

Suna’s lips part open but his throat is too tight to get a single sound out. He’s not surprised to feel a hot tear roll down from the corner of his eyes when he shuts them tight. His heart swells in his chest.

He’s so overwhelmed he could pass out. 

Osamu has always been more open about his feelings than Suna ever was but even then… Suna doesn’t get to hear them too often. 

“D’you need a minute?” Osamu asks with concern — although he sounds as ruined as Suna is — as he kisses the single tear away. “Are you okay?”

Suna lets out another sob while he nods — although he has no idea what he nodding at — and it cracks open a path. To breathe in the air he desperately needs to relax and to blurt out words Suna knows Osamu gets to hear all too rarely himself. But for once, they fall off his lips so easily it makes his head spin.

“I love you, ‘Samu. God, I love you so much.”

Suna cracks his eyes open, vision slightly blurry, but it doesn’t matter. He sees through Osamu’s smile, his gaze and the passionate kiss that follows.

Suna has no idea why he bottles things up like this, why he keeps things in, why he never expresses the need to verbalize his feelings because, no matter how crushing, there’s nothing more delightful than witnessing the absolute bliss and sheer happiness that takes over Osamu when he lets them out.

When he does, Suna finds out there’s so much he can give to Osamu and ultimately what he wants is to give _himself_ undyingly.

Something he can do easily.

Suna realizes Osamu is fully sheathed inside of him now and that it doesn’t hurt. Only the faint memory of the burn remains and it just helps Suna to ground himself back into the present moment.

Osamu is an anchor, a constant in his life, in Suna’s mind as much as he is physically.

Suna's thighs wrap higher around Osamu’s back, the kiss deepening until they both can’t breathe anymore.

Suna pants into his mouth, clutching his shoulders while Osamu picks up the pace. He’s caging him down, his left forearm propped next to Suna’s face for support, his other hand gliding along his body to find Suna’s until he can intertwine their fingers together. 

A few seconds later, he repeats the motion with Suna’s other hand and suddenly pins them both above his head, slamming hard into him. Suna arches off the table, grunting through gritted teeth.

Osamu’s mouth travels down his neck, lower, sucking and biting marks over the toned chest that’s progressively getting covered in a thin film of sweat. The collar of Osamu's shirt brushes Suna's sensitive skin repeatedly, until it right out tickles and Suna is thrashing under him. With his wrists restrained above his head, Suna doesn't have much room to move.

Osamu pulls back anyway, face adorably scrunched up in confusion although he looks feral. Suna’s eyelids flutter, his tongue running along his lips to collect the saliva pooling there; he’s so fucked out he has a hard time even gathering his thoughts but when he skims over Osamu and notices the mess that’s his shirt, he snaps out of it.

Suna pushes himself up, moaning as he sinks further down Osamu’s cock, but with a mind clear enough to tear the last button of the garment off.

And while he’s at it, Suna thinks he might get rid of the shirt entirely. He does so while stealing a breathtaking kiss that forces Osamu to straighten up and pull out.

Suna chases after him and lets Osamu guide him off the table. He ends up losing on both ends nonetheless, because for some reason Osamu suddenly breaks the embrace and Suna is flipped over.

The tip of his sensitive cock drags under the edge of the table and he tries to jolt away but Osamu pushes him further down until Suna's chest is pressed flat on the surface. 

The hand between his shoulder blades doesn't budge until Suna's eyes widen and he tries to look back. Then only it runs down at the base of his nape to pin him there. Osamu's other hand cups his ass and Suna barely has the time to grip the opposite edge of the table to brace himself before Osamu thrusts back inside him. 

Suna's legs try to close in response but Osamu knees them apart easily. Suna is too drained and too lost in their shared pleasure to be anything else than pliant under his touch. 

And under his touch, he is. Osamu is all over him in seconds, draping himself over his back, joining their hands again on the surface of the table near Suna's head and trailing kisses and bites along his shoulder and jaw. 

Suna's cheek rests on the table, heating up a little more with each new powerful thrust that makes him faintly slide over the surface that's getting damp with sweat. 

In a flash of clarity, Suna finds it funny that they're fucking on top of the remnants of their accounting sheets and books Suna doesn't understand the first thing about as if Osamu could literally fuck some senses into him. 

"Why are ya laughin' for?" Osamu asks before driving deeper. 

Suna clutches Osamu's fingers tightly as if to brace himself but it doesn't wipe off his stupid grin. 

"Nothing."

"Sure? Nothin' to share with the class?" Osamu insists, relentless. 

Suna feels himself slowly tipping over the edge, and this time his legs part to get Osamu to fuck him deeper. 

"No, sir. I was just thinking about how hard you'd need to fuck me into these sheets for me to imprint a single calculus."

Osamu suddenly tugs on his hair to bring Suna's ear to his lips. 

"Wanna find out?" he growls. 

"Give it your all," Suna answers, breathless, before pushing his hips back into Osamu's. 

Osamu's grip on his hair eases to move to his throat instead, prompting Suna to lean back into him.

Osamu pumps his hips faster, although he can't get as deep as before. But Suna is too far gone, it's exactly the right amount of pressure he needs so when Osamu's free hand fists Suna's cock, it's all it takes to push him over. 

"Osamu. Osamu, wait—" 

Suna doesn't even know why he's asking that because his mind blanks out the next second. 

It makes a lot more sense when he comes back to his senses and finds Osamu curled up over him, hips stuttering and body trembling as he tries and fails to contain Suna's release that's dripping from between his fingers. 

But at least, the table is safe. And the floor of their living room has seen worse than a few droplets of cum. 

"The hell," Suna breathes out, abs spamming and thighs trembling. "I know I need another shower but I think I'm gonna collapse."

Osamu hums against his skin, faces pressed between his shoulder blades.

They can take a couple of minutes to take their breaths and relax, it's fine. 

Osamu is softening inside of Suna but it doesn't matter. If he slips out and the floor gets any dirtier it won't change a—

"Holy fuck! Aw!" Suna suddenly yells, jumping away from Osamu and colliding with the table painfully after his boyfriend suddenly thrusted back all the way in without a warning. "What the hell, 'Samu!" 

"I'm sorry! Oh my god, I got surprised, I'm so sorry, it's the—Tsumu, _NO!"_

Suna barely gets what is happening until Osamu actually dives down and calls their cat’s name. His eyes shift to their feet at the speed of light, just in time to see Osamu retrieve the feline and, thus, successfully preventing him from poking his nose into the mess they left on the floor.

His eyes suddenly crack so wide it hurts.

“Oh my god, _no,_ ew! No, disgusting, ew, fuck! Put him on the balcony!” Suna immediately blurts out, unnecessarily stepping as far away as he can from Osamu and Tsumu. “Poor thing, oh no!”

Osamu doesn’t move and instead stares at him for a solid ten seconds before suddenly bursting into laughter, the cat purring in his arms and trying to rub his face and whiskers against his pecs. 

Suna’s little hysteria immediately deflates. The sight is so endearing it makes his chest ache.

It doesn’t have to last, thankfully, because Osamu’s laughter was always contagious. And laughing, Suna does. Until it gives him cramps and he can barely stand on his feet. 

He’s still giggling uncontrollably by the time Osamu comes back from putting Tsumu outside on the balcony, and Suna’s even wiping tears off his eyes when Osamu wraps an arm around him to guide him toward the bathroom.

It’s only then that Suna figures out it might be the nerves too. The exhaustion. But the good kind. So he leans into Osamu’s body and lets him tamper with the water.

Hot water runs down their bodies soon — because of course Suna would never really have emptied the tank and left none for his lover — and Suna sighs, content.

If he wasn’t on the brink of falling asleep, he’d ask to stay there for the rest of his break.

But then Suna thinks about their bed, like he did a little over an hour ago, and about burying himself in the covers that smells like Osamu. Like them.

“Tilt your head back,” Osamu whispers as he thread his fingers through Suna’s hair to massage some shampoo into his scalp.

“Take a nap with me?” Suna answers as he complies, closing his eyes.

“I will after I clean the floor and throw Toya out,” Osamu tells him.

“Oh right. I’ll help,” Suna hums, fighting the heaviness in his limbs the best he can.

“You don’t have to clean my mess,” Osamu tells him, hands slowly sliding off his hair to travel down Suna’s back, circling his waist and settling over his stomach as he rests his chin on his shoulder.

Suna aches again. Pleasantly. It might be the right time to blurt more silly things out.

“You know… As long as you let me come home to you, what’s yours is mine,” he simply says.

After that, and while he fights the blush spreading on his face, Suna feels more than he hears Osamu swallow the lump in his throat, pressed tightly against him. 

“Yeah? Then I should probably get it together and remember the basis,” Osamu croaks out, and Suna’s heartbeat stutters at the hoarseness of his voice. 

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t greet ya properly earlier.”

“Oh, right,” Suna breathes out, hugging the arms covering his chest to get closer to him. “I’m home, Osamu.”

“Mmh. Welcome home, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, reaching the end of this series. I had a lovely time diving in their hearts and feelings under the pretense of writing some steamy scenes and I hope you enjoyed it as much. ♥
> 
> I was thinking about maybe one day add a chapter 4 or 5 or even 28 and thus... I'm kinda opening prompts in the reviews I guess? I can't promise I'll do it or I'll do all of them but you can drop a request or prompt as long as it's domestic and/or about chores I could play around with in this verse and if I ever get inspired I'll add it to this story as a new chapter. I'd suggest to stay subscribe to this piece for those interested by this.
> 
> See you around, anyway, I have a ton of other fic ideas for SunaOsa ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Deaddrabble)  
> Find me on [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/DeaddrabbleRobin)


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